Di Fara

Di Fara is perhaps the most demanding god in the pantheon of New York pizzerias. The sacrifices required include a long trip out to Midwood, Brooklyn, potential waits of up to 2 hours for a simple cheese pizza, and dining in surroundings that vaguely resemble a museum exhibit on The Great Unfinished Basements of 1973. But once you receive your reward for passing these tests, you have no doubt of its divine origins.

Domenico DeMarco has been making pies here since 1964, and now, in his 70's, he's still the only one whose hands come into contact with your pizza. He makes nothing in advance; only after you place your order does he begin to knead the dough for your pizza, and he sees each pie all the way into the oven before he starts on the next. Using his own secret sauce and herbs grown right in the store, DeMarco works methodically on each pie, making the same motions he has for 40 years. It's truly transfixing to watch, and people gather around the counter in an almost reverential silence. After the pizza comes out of the oven, he grinds some fresh parmiggiano reggiano by hand and sprinkles it over your pie, then cuts as much fresh basil as you'd like and spreads it out beneath a drizzle of olive oil.

The crust is lightly burned and achingly thin, with a droopy end and firm center. The first bite you take is a revelation, pizza raised to a level of smoky richness that leaves you wondering what you've been eating all your life. It's not easy to get into heaven, but it sure is worth the trouble.